


Love of the Father

by Skyelah



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Feels, Héctor is a good papá, Sad Skeleton Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-03-22 00:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyelah/pseuds/Skyelah
Summary: Fathers are supposed to be there for their children, but Coco's papá had never come home. A series of events in Coco's life that Héctor missed, and moments when they missed each other.





	1. Chapter 1

Héctor woke up dead. 

He remembered the feeling of dying, a sharp pain in his stomach and a burning in his throat and lungs. He remembered the taste of blood in his mouth, and dirt where his face pressed into the ground as he slumped forward. _I just want to see them again, por favor_. Then, nothing. A blessed numbness spread through him, and his eyes drifted closed. When he opened them again, it was to a brightly painted calavera, eyes and smile impossibly bright as she loomed over him.

“Hola, señor! Welcome to the Land of the Dead!”

He should have been panicking. He should have pleaded that there must have been some mistake, that he couldn’t be dead, he had to go home to see his familia. Instead, he felt a hollowness inside, and he sat in stunned disbelief as the woman continued speaking.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, señor, and we at the Department of Family Reunions are prepared to help you in any way we can. But first, fill out these forms, por favor, and then we’ll see about notifying your family.”

He took the clipboard and pen she offered him, and she shuffled off to speak to another new arrival, sitting dazedly a few chairs over from Héctor. He now realized he was in some form of waiting room, sitting in a hard-backed wooden chair, surrounded by skeletons. He glanced numbly at the objects in his hands. His metacarpals glistened white, just a shade darker than the paper. He swallowed, and felt the clacking of bone where there used to be skin and flesh. Panic threatened to loom, before the hollow feeling overcame it once more. _I’m_ _dead_ … he thought, and began to write. 

Name, age, cause of death… _Food poisoning_ , he wrote, and then _– chorizo_. Family, he left blank, having never known his papá, and having no memory of his mamá, who died when he was still young. The only family he had was – “ _Ay dios mio, Imelda_ ,” he breathed. He had yet to mail her his latest letter, consisting of all the coins he had earned from his and Ernesto’s performances, and a promise to come home soon. He had thought to surprise her in person, and now, she would be waiting on a husband who could never come home. And Coco… 

“Disculpe, señora,” he raised his head, and the skeleton who had first greeted him flitted back to his side. “Could you tell me what day it is, por favor?”

“Of course, señor. You were one of our late night arrivals; it’s just after midnight now. December 8th, 1921.”

He thinks he might have thanked her, before she turns to help another new arrival. His thoughts were stirring rapidly, and he felt sick. It was December 8th.

He’d missed Socorro’s birthday.

* * *

Socorro Rivera turned four years old today. Her mamá woke her up with a song, and a promise to make all of her comidas favoritas for dinner that night. Her Tío Óscar and Tío Felipe played with her all afternoon. Her mamá gave her new ribbons for her hair, and she held Coco in her lap while she braided them in, humming Coco’s song all the while. It should have been the perfect day.

But her papá had not come home. Papá had sent Coco so many letters, poems and songs that he wrote her, all of them signed, _Love Papá_. Her mama read her every letter out loud, and Coco kept them all, folded up beside her bed. He sent letters to Mamá too, letters that Coco wasn’t allowed to read but that never failed to make Mamá smile, or blush, if only for a moment or two. But most of the time, mamá was sad. And Coco was sad, too. She missed her Papá.

She wanted her Papá to come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ana Ofelia Murguía, who voices Mamá Coco in the movie, was born on December 8th. The Coco wiki tells me that Héctor died sometime in December, just after his 21st birthday. It's my own personal head canon that the night Héctor decided to go home, he was just trying to get home in time for his daughter's birthday. 
> 
> Because apparently I like making myself even sadder.
> 
> As always, any mistakes made belong entirely to me. Please feel free to leave constructive criticism on your way out. Or, feel free to join me in my feels over Pixar skeletons.


	2. Chapter 2

The door slammed shut behind Coco as she stormed into the house. Her mamá was close behind, eyes flashing with fury. "Socorro Rivera," she thundered, "what have I told you about visiting the plaza? That place is crawling with no-good musicos, and you –"

"I was just dancing!" Coco spun to face her mamá, braids whipping about her face. Her face was red with anger, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "It was just harmless fun, it wasn't hurting anyone. You embarrassed me in front of everyone, mamá!"

"I will not have music in this house! It would turn you against your family, take you away from us. I'll not have you making the same mistake as –"

"As papá?"

"Never mention that man," mamá spat. "That pendejo abandoned us, he is dead to this family. I won't have you following in his footsteps, Coco. No more dancing, no more music!"

"Maybe papá didn't leave because of music. Maybe he left because he wanted to get away from you!"

Mamá reeled back as if struck, her angry façade crumbling into shock and hurt. Coco took the opportunity to run from the room, fleeing to her bedroom and shutting the door loudly behind her. A sob tore from her throat as she flung herself towards her bed, tears stinging her face. She would have to apologize to her mamá for that later, she knew. But she was just so angry, she had spoken without thinking.

She had not meant to dance in the plaza that day. She just meant to pick up a few things from the market, before the soft strains of music echoing from the plaza had swept her away. The melody has seemed to fill her, and she danced without thought, twirling and weaving her way about the plaza, laughing all the while. Until her mamá had come to look for her and found her there, grabbed her by the hand and dragged her forcefully away in front of everyone. She had never before been so embarrassed.

Still, she should not have talked back to her mamá like she had. Coco didn't know why her papá left them, but she knew it wasn't to get away from mamá. She did not remember much about her papá, but that didn't seem to fit with the hazy picture of him she had in her mind. She remembered him as kind and loving to mama, she remembered the silly little songs he used to sing to them both, how they never failed to make mamá smile.

She remembered that her papá loved her.

Her mamá insisted that he found another family, that he sold their songs and left every remnant of his old life behind, but Coco wasn't so sure. Sometimes, she imagined him off on some adventure. She imagined something, some monster, had taken him away from them, and he was fighting to come back to them. She dreamed that one day he would return home. He'd swing her into his arms and tell her he loved her, that he missed her. They would sing her song together, and mamá would let music back into their lives again. She would be free to dance again.

Coco reached into her bedside table, withdrawing the small notebook filled with old letters. Tucked between the pages was a torn fragment of a photograph. Coco stared at her papá's softly smiling face, blurred as it was through her tears. She wondered, not for the first time, when her papá was coming home.

* * *

Héctor's 13th attempt to cross the marigold bridge went about as well as all his other attempts. He wound up in a holding cell, slumped over in pain as he attempted to fit the two broken ends of his lower rib together. The bones grated against one another, and a pained hiss escaped clenched teeth before he finally fit himself together, like some sort of macabre jigsaw puzzle. He quickly wrapped it, holding the ends together until time healed them. He'd broken bones before, in other years, other attempted crossings. They didn't bother him anymore.

"You just might be el más estúpido cabrón I've ever seen."

Héctor spared a glance for the man in the cell next to his. He'd seen him in here before, short and crotchety, with his hat low over his furrowed brows. He ignored him then, and he did again, leaning back and closing his eyes. In his mind, he was already planning next years attempt to cross the bridge. Maybe if he disguised himself as an alebrije…

"Every year you try to cross that damn bridge, and every year you wind up in here. What's on the other side worth spending the night in a cell, tonto?"

"What are you in for then, if you're so smart?" Héctor couldn't help but retaliate. In his haste at spitting out a retort, he'd sat sharply upright, causing a shooting pain in his ribcage. He grabbed at his side, grunting in pain, and the skeleton in the cell next to his laughed.

"Ay, chamaco, wouldn't you like to know." There was silence between the two of them for a moment. Then, he spoke again, this time softly. "You're never going to get across, you know? No photo on an ofrenda, no crossing the bridge."

Héctor sighed. He knew this, but he couldn't accept it. Not yet. "I have to try."

"Whoever you're trying to see, must be something pretty special."

Hector thought of Imelda, her eyes flashing as she loomed over some cabrón who had offended her, boot in hand. How she always smelled of leather and straw and the oils she used in her hair. He thought of Coco, still so small when he left, with round cheeks and small hands reaching out to touch his face as they sang together. "She is."

He missed them so much.

"Soy Chicharrón," the man offered, with a tip of his hat. Hector looked at him more closely. Chicharrón's bones had an off-white hue, his painted calavera faded, though the colours could still be made out. His face was set in a permanent grimace, but his eyes were kind.

"Hola, Chich. Soy Héctor."

He missed his family. He missed Coco. But there was always next year to try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if its canon, or just widely accepted fanon, but the thought of Héctor disguising himself as an alebrije to try and cross the bridge is disproportionately hilarious to me.
> 
> Any mistakes made belong entirely to me. Please feel free to leave constructive criticism on your way out. Or, feel free to join me in my feels over Pixar skeletons.


	3. Chapter 3

The day Julio proposed was one of the happiest days of Coco's life. He had spent months visiting the workshop every day, both to spend time with Coco and to learn to make shoes from Imelda, proving to the Rivera family matriarch that he would be a good provider for her hija. He had been respectful when asking for permission to have Coco's hand, even agreeing to give up music if it meant he could spend the rest of his days with el amor de su vida. In the end, Imelda had had no choice but to say yes.

The months that followed had been a blur. There would be no music at the wedding, of course, but there was still so much else to plan. Mamá's friend Ceci had agreed to stand as one of Coco's madrinos, and Rosita as well; together with mamá they had been an unstoppable force, making much of the preparations themselves. The night before the wedding, she sat vigil with her mamá, as the older woman carefully wound ribbons into her hair.

Coco tried not to think of the man who should have been there with them.

As the years had passed, and it became glaringly obvious that papá was never coming home, Coco found herself wondering more and more what had happened to him. She would pour over old letters, tracing his careful handwriting with her eyes and wonder what could have kept her papá, so loving in his letters and in her memory, away from their family.

There were days when Coco hated her Papá, almost as much as her mamá seemed to.

She hated that he left them, that he never came home. She hated that he wasn't there to give Julio a hard time as he courted her; to eventually give them his blessing to marry. Papá should have been there that night, sitting vigil with her and mamá, and he should have been there to give her away. He should have been there now, as she stood before the doors on the iglesia, her mamá by her side.

"Mija." Her mamá carefully took Coco's face between her hands. "Te ves hermosa." There was a rare smile gracing her lips, and a glimmer of tears in the corners of each eye. "I'm so happy for you, cariño."

"Gracias, mamá." She had her mamá here beside her. The love of her life waited for her inside, along with her madrinos, her tíos, her familia and all her friends. She was happy, surrounded by the people who loved her and who has always been there for her. She took the arm her mama offered, ready to step forward into her new, married life.

She tried not to miss the man who should have been there next to her.

* * *

Héctor had found himself a perch on the wall overlooking Shantytown, and he would often sit there, overlooking the shambling slums that had become his home and wondering how his afterlife had come to this. 18 years since his death, and not once had his picture been placed on the family ofrenda. By now, Imelda surely must have realized that he had died, which meant that she was still angry enough about him leaving that she wouldn't put his photo up.

5 years had passed since he had accepted his fate, taking Chicharrón's offer of a space in Shantytown, among all the other nearly-forgotten souls. His bones still held the bright-white hue of the Remembered dead, and he couldn't accept that there would be no crossing the bridge, but he had no illusions about his fate. This was where he belonged now.

"Tío Héctor!"

Héctor looked downward, into the frantic face of a child. The dead didn't age, something that struck Héctor every time he caught a glimpse of his face, a calavera forever immortalizing his 21 years. Still, even after death, the dead went on somewhat living, and it wasn't uncommon to see a skeleton with eyes that spoke of wisdom beyond the years of their face. Especially not in Shantytown, where the nearly forgotten, and now Héctor, made their home.

They called them the forgotten children – all of the orphans and abandoned youth, dead long before their time, with no one alive to remember them, or no one who cared enough to try. Héctor had felt drawn to them immediately, perhaps because he felt a special kinship to them, being an orphan himself, or perhaps because their young faces reminded him so much of Coco. They often teased him, accused him of mothering them when they had all been dead longer than he had been alive, but Héctor couldn't stop himself.

He leapt down from the wall, shattering into pieces that he swiftly pulled together again. As he wrenched his head back into place, he recognized Mateo Pérez, who had died at just 15 during the start of the revolution. "What is it, chamaco?"

Mateo's upper lip quivered. "It's Sofia…" Héctor had a sinking feeling in his chest.

"Where is she?"

Mateo led Héctor through the walkways of Shantytown. There was an air of solemnity, as there was every time one of their own was forgotten. Word must have spread. The bungalow Mateo led Héctor to was dark. Héctor placed a reassuring hand of Mateo's shoulder, attempting what he hoped was a smile, before ducking inside.

The small room was lit with a flickering golden glow, emitted from the bones of a child. Sofia had lived in Shantytown longer than anyone Hector knew, her yellowed bones attested to that fact. Yet her body was still that of a six-year old girl, as small as she had been when cholera had taken her life. Her frame shuddered with a sickening golden glow. Héctor swallowed, ducking his head.

"Come to say goodbye, Tío Héctor?" Sofia's vice was weak, but she managed to lift her head from her hammock to speak to him. Héctor shook his head, crossing the room in a few short steps to kneel by her side.

"No, niña. You had everyone worried, but I'd say you look like you could go ten rounds with un toro, ay?"

"Your lies are kind, Héctor." Sofia smiled weakly. "I know that I'm fading. I don't have long."

Héctor didn't have a response to that. She looked so small, barely older than Coco was the day he left. He reached out to brush the hair from her eyes, and Sofia leant her face into his hand. "Would you sing for me, Tío Héctor?"

He hadn't played a guitar in years, not since he first heard Ernesto's bastardized version of _Remember_ _Me_ played by a newly arrived mariachi, and learned what his former amigo had done with his songs. He sung only on rare occasions for the nearly-forgotten. He could spare a song for Sofia now. He cast his thoughts around for a suitable song. Not _Remember Me_ , that would always belong to Coco. But another lullaby for this fading child, who reminded him so much of his own daughter… that he could do.

_Luna lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera;_

_dile que no vivo de tanto padecer, dile que a mi lado debiera volver_

As he sang, the golden glow in Sofia's bones ceased it's flickering, steadily setting her whole body awash with its light. His weight sank down into the hammock as Sofia drifted away in the wind, a faint wisp of light fading into the moonlit sky. Héctor clutched at the empty air, whispering the last words of the lullaby for Sofia, for Coco a world away.

_Luna lunera, cascabelera,_ _ve y dile a mi amorcito_ _por Dios que me quiera;_

_dile que me muero,_ _que tenga compasión,_

_dile que se apiade de mi corazón._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lullaby Héctor sings is called Luna Lunera. From my research, it's a traditional lullaby, in which the singer begs the moon to tell his sweetheart that he loves her. I thought it was a very appropriate song for Héctor to sing in this scene, and it felt like the type of lullaby he would have sung to Coco.
> 
> Any mistakes made belong entirely to me. Please feel free to leave constructive criticism on your way out. Or, feel free to join me in my feels over Pixar skeletons.


	4. Chapter 4

Coco was 87 years old when her great-grandson Miguel was born. She was there when they brought him home for the very first time, watching as his family cooed over him, and his older cousins clamored to be the first to hold him. She watched contently from the sidelines, letting the sights and sounds of her family wash over her, proud of the family her mamá, and now her hija Elena had built. And when Miguel's primos had settled down for the night, Luisa placed the baby in her arms, and Coco stared into the face of her great-grandson for the first time.

Coco loved all her grandchildren and her great grandchildren, each one holding a special place in her heart. But looking at the drowsy babe in her arms, she could tell that Miguelito was special. Soft brown eyes blinked back at her, the same colour as her own, the same as – "Ay, you look like mi papá," she whispered, quietly enough that her daughter in the next room would not hear. Coco loved Elena, and Elena her mamá, but Elena had also worshipped Mamá Imelda, and upheld her ban on music and all things related with gusto. Coco ran one arthritic finger gently down baby Miguel's cheek and he grasped at it with a surprisingly powerful grip.

"And such strong hands. You will make a fine Rivera shoemaker some day." Her voiced trailed off, and in the back of her mind, a fragmented and faded memory flickered to life. "But maybe, you'll be something else. A musician, like mi papá. He had strong hands, too." In her memory, papá picked her up and swung her through the air, before the memory flickered and died. "Papá was a musician…" A few shaky notes danced across her mind and faded away.

Coco knew she was an old woman. Her memories had been fading for years, little things leaving her bit by bit. She could no longer remember what her mamá's laugh sounded like, she had forgotten the first song she and Julio had danced to. She no longer remembered her papá's face. Just fragments of moments, snatches of songs, sometimes pieced together with the help of old letters and poems still stored beside her bed after all these years. A lullaby…

"Remember me… Though I have to say goodbye…"

Her voice was barely above a whisper. Miguel's eyes were wide, staring innocently into her own, before he opened his mouth in a gummy approximation of a smile. Mamá Coco felt herself smile back, even as tears begin trickling down her face. "Ay, mijo… I don't want to forget him." And the memory of her papá's voice echoes in her mind before fading once more.

"Remember me…"

* * *

 Héctor knew he was being forgotten.

He recognized the signs by now, had seen enough of his friends succumb to the Final Death to know that his time was coming. His bones had long since faded and yellowed, and the scant memories holding his form together left him loose and shambling. He fell apart if the wind blew the wrong way, and it was getting harder and harder to pull himself together again. He creaked and ached all over, he had a permanent limp from a break that would never heal. Near as he could figure, he had another 10 years left in him, maybe more, maybe less.

Imelda's arrival in the Land of the Dead had brought him a brief flicker of hope, one that was quickly dashed by the heel of her boot across his face. He has suspected for years that she had deliberately left him off the ofrenda – she must have known he was dead, after so long – but he had always hoped that he would be able to explain, to make her understand, and she would no longer be so angry at him for leaving. She could help him get his photo on their family ofrenda, and he could see Coco again.

Imelda hated him. She had struck him with her boot and screamed at him, cursing him when he dared show up to the Department of Family Reunions to meet her. "You abandoned us! You cabrón, you left me alone, you left Coco without a father, ran off to pursue some musical fantasy, and you expect me to forgive you? Nunca!"

He left her there, and while he still saw her from time to time, he was turned away again and again. It left him feeling broken, feeling hopeless, and as he tried and failed every year to cross the bridge, he fell deeper and deeper into despair.

"You've given it your best shot," Chicharrón told him, after his 83rd attempt had failed. "But you need to give this up, chamaco. One of these days, your schemes are gonna get you dead."

"Already dead, Chich." His quick smile was more of a grimace, really. He had taken a fall this time that ripped his fibula from its wrappings. As he spoke, he snapped the bone back into place. "You think next year I could borrow your van? I promise, I'll bring it right back –"

"Ay, tonto. You never did tell me what's so important on the other side. What's worth risking your stupid neck every Día de los Muertos –"

"I had a family." Chicharrón fell silent. "A daughter. I left, and I never made it home. They never put up my photo, and now…" Héctor gestured to himself. "My daughter is the only one who remembers me. And I need to see her again, one last time. To tell her that I love her. That I'm sorry. That I miss her."

There's nothing Chicharrón could say to that, so instead, he poured them each a drink. The tequila burned going down, in a way that felt like being alive again. They commiserated in silence for a moment, before Héctor tentatively spoke again. "So, about the van..?

It was almost worth the smack on the head Chicharrón gave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes made belong entirely to me. Please feel free to leave constructive criticism on your way out. Or, feel free to join me in my feels over Pixar skeletons.


	5. Chapter 5

To say Héctor was nervous would be an understatement.

His afterlife had changed so quickly since Miguel had returned to the Land of the Living. He had recovered from the Final Death, Coco remembering him again just moments before he faded into oblivion. He felt stronger than he had in years, more grounded, as if his story was finally being shared in the Land of the Living. He suspected he had Miguel to thank for that. His wife had welcomed back with… well, if not with open arms, then at least without a boot across the face. She had listened, after all these years, and after many nights of sharing stories from their time apart and several tearful apologies from both parties, they were finally rebuilding their relationship. Héctor had a family again, and he couldn't be happier.

Then, the call came from the Department of Family Reunions. Now, he sat astride Pepita's back, just behind his wife, as the great cat tore through the sky in the direction of the arrivals gate. One arm wrapped firmly around Imelda's waist, the other held his hat to his head, Héctor's mind was racing. After decades, nearly one hundred years, he would see Coco again. He could finally see his girl, finally tell her how sorry he was, how much he loved her… Héctor was terrified.

It all felt like a dream, too good to be true, and he almost didn't trust that he wouldn't wake up in his hammock in Shantytown, alone and nearly forgotten once more. Would Coco even want to see him? Had she forgiven him for leaving, for never coming home, or like her mother, did she harbor years of resentment towards the man who had abandoned her family? As Héctor fretted, his son-in-law, seated behind him on Pepita's back, touched one skeletal hand to Héctor's elbow.

"She never stopped dancing, you know."

Since reuniting with his family, Héctor had come to appreciate Julio as a man who was careful with his words, who always seemed to know the right thing to say. With that one sentence, Héctor felt his tumultuous thoughts abate somewhat, though he still felt a thrill of nerves as Pepita began her descent. The alebrije began spiraling downwards into the open courtyard of the Department of Family Reunions. Below them, newly arrived and reunited skeletons milled about… and standing apart from them, the lone figure of a woman with greyed hair, staring up at the sky.

Coco…

Imelda slid off Pepita's back the moment they landed, racing to take her daughter in her arms. "Socorro," she crooned, pressing a kiss to her daughters forehead. "Mija, how I have missed you."

Julio was not far behind, responding to Coco's cry of "Julio, mi amor!" by sweeping his wife into a tight embrace while Imelda looked on fondly. As Héctor slid slowly off Pepita's back, Victoria raced past him. "Oh, Victoria, mija, I've missed you so much."

As three generations of Rivera's held each other, laughing and crying with happiness, Héctor hung back at Pepita's side. He clutched his hat to his chest and ducked his head, peeking up at the family reunion from lowered brows. He could see Imelda place a gentle hand on Coco's shoulder, see her lips move, and the crowd of his familia parted until…

There she stood, his little Socorro. Though not so little anymore, her skeletal face holding more years than his could ever hope to achieve. She was no longer the chubby faced toddler from his memories, but he would recognize his daughter anywhere. Would recognize her bright eyes, a mirror of his own, set in a face that had Imelda's proud chin, his wife's beautiful smile… She still wore her hair in braids. Héctor felt a lump lodge in his throat, and he stuttered a step forward. "Coco…" She stared back at him, mouth agape in shock, or wonder, he could not tell.

"Papá?"

He couldn't contain himself any longer. Héctor sprang forward, his hat falling to the ground as he rushed towards his daughter. Coco did the same, stumbling at first, her face breaking into a wide grin as she hurried to meet him. They clashed somewhere in the middle, Héctor curling down around his daughter, and she brought her arms up to meet him.

"Coco… my little Coco… Love you so much… missed you… Sorry, so sorry," Héctor babbled incoherently. Coco laughed through her tears, and the sound of it was the most beautiful music Héctor had ever heard. Héctor pressed kisses to her hair, the painted markings on her forehead and cheeks, to every bit of her face he could reach.

"Papá… I missed you so much, papá."

Héctor pulled back from his embrace, though he still held his daughter's face between his hands. He knelt down before her, running a thumb across each cheek. His eyes carefully searched her own. "Coco… I am so, so sorry, mija. I'm sorry for leaving, I'm sorry for never coming home –"

"That wasn't your fault, papá. Mi bisnieto Miguel, he told me everything. You never meant to stay away, you tried to come home."

Héctor felt a rush of affection towards his great-great grandson. "Even so, Coco… I missed so much of your life…" The rest of the family had moved closer now, encircling Coco and Héctor where they had sank to the ground. "Can you ever forgive me for that, Coco?" Héctor glanced up at his wife, and she met his eyes with a tentative, tear-stained smile before placing a hand softly on his shoulder. Her other hand reached out to stroke her daughter's hair, and Coco leaned into her mother's touch.

"I already have forgiven you, papá. And for all the things you've missed…" Coco's face split into a wide grin, and she let a peal of laughter ring out. Héctor found himself joining in spite of himself, and soon the whole family has laughing, holding one another close.

"We have all the time in the world, papá."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes made belong entirely to me. Please feel free to leave constructive criticism on your way out. Or, feel free to join me in my feels over Pixar skeletons.


End file.
